


Like Starships in the Night

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy goes to a gig and feels an attraction to a stranger who reminds him of Jim. approx 3,500 words<br/><b>Warnings</b>: none I don’t think – loud music?<br/><b>Disclaimer</b>: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.<br/>Thanks to  for beta work!</p><p>Intriguing snippet: <i>The lights changed as another number ended and McCoy got a clear look at the cadet’s expression. Eyes dead ahead, his face revealed nothing but excited interest in the band – hmm… this guy would make a great chess player.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Starships in the Night

  
**Like Starships in the Night**   


 

Friday night and the air con fought a losing battle against the body heat and low ceilings. McCoy watched as Kirk wove through the audience towards the restroom.

He sipped his drink and his heart leaped when he saw how Kirk glanced over his shoulder at him, paused to take in the surrounding landmarks, the PA, the bar, working out how to find him easily on the way back once the houselights were dimmed and the band was on stage.

He felt a surge of joy that he should have this, have _him_ , and then a slight panic that it could so easily not have been. He couldn’t imagine Jim not being his – couldn’t bear to.

Yet, he couldn’t help wondering… what would it be like if he saw Kirk now, for the first time this night, at this gig? Surely he would have noticed him. But he could so easily have missed him. Would he have spotted that pretty face in the crowd and felt an attraction towards him? Even then, would he have had the stones to do anything about it?

He sipped at his drink again, vaguely amused by his whole glass-half-emptiness.

After McCoy had met Kirk on the shuttle, he really took his godamm’ time sizing him up before they even shared a drink together. Wasted weeks. He’s surprised, thinking back, that he hadn’t taken his tricorder out and given him the once over before he took the seat next to him. Shit. How could he not have realized how much he needed him?

McCoy smiled to himself. He was a little drunk and a lot emotional – must be something about being the oldest, most bitter cadet in the academy theater – nice contrast to these hopeful, live-in-the-moment youngsters.

His eyes flitted anxiously in the direction of the rest room; Kirk was taking a long time. These days McCoy had moved beyond wondering if Kirk had been way-laid by some piece of ass in the bathroom. But still…he _was_ taking a long time.

He bit at his lip gently, thought about what it would be like when they went back to his room later. How they’d fuck for hours on the small cot, and how lucky he was to have that to look forward to, to know and trust that would happen, to have that security. To know that Jim Kirk was his – shit, that unblocked some of the bitterness in his veins, _surely?_

The band erupted on stage and McCoy felt a little frisson of panic that Kirk might miss them altogether. Kirk liked his music rough, direct, dirty and these unknowns were among his favorites and he’d earned this break, this escape from the intense workload. They both had.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the opening vocal gambit, a fucking shriek, the singer’s eyeballs almost popping with effort. No thanks, liked his music a little more predictable, with actual words that said something. There was enough chaos in his work, fighting with life and death on a daily basis; he needed a lullaby not howling. Still it wasn’t going to kill him this once (just deafen him) - he loved seeing Kirk all excited and happy. It switched his old heart on if truth be told so it would be a damn shame if he hadn’t been able to find him on his way back and was standing somewhere else.

Shit, Jim never got lost.

First track over and while everyone howled their approval, McCoy scanned those nearby, looking for Kirk.

Where _was_ he?

The band kicked up again and McCoy felt the thud, thud, thud of the bass drum through his groin. He finished his drink and allowed the paper cup to drop to his feet. The front man had his mic clasped in both hands, already bathed in sweat, pouting and posing for the pogo-ing mass of hardcore fans ten deep from the stage responsible for a great deal of sudden movement and jostling. He considered taking a few steps back in case he got caught up – didn’t want to be covered in bruises the next day yet, he didn’t want to lose Jim when he came looking for him. Better stay put.

Shit, maybe he’d lost him already?

By the time the third track was underway, the lead singer had moved his posturing and preening to the stacks at the front, McCoy had got so wrapped up in the performance that he didn’t notice that Kirk was back until he recognized the broad shoulders and dirty blond hair right in front of him.

Huh? Why hadn’t Jim said anything?

Why hadn’t he even smiled or touched his arm?

Had he done something to piss him off?

And then, with a slow smile and a nod, McCoy understood _why_ the cold shoulder and his pants suddenly felt marginally tighter.

He took a long, hot breath that bore sweat and alcohol and heat from the bodies pressed around them. Rubbed his mouth and took stock.

Kirk, was all of four inches ahead of him and behaving as if he didn’t know McCoy from Adam. Acting as if he’d come to the gig alone.

 _Acting_. Ok…

As if to reassure himself how lovers normally behaved, McCoy glanced at a couple close by – personal bubbles unthreatened, they leant easily into each other, just as he and Kirk had done ten minutes ago. See, they didn’t call Jim Kirk a genius for nothing - by putting that small distance between them, Kirk had effectively transformed himself into a stranger – into some uppity cadet – and he’d cast McCoy in the role of a country doctor on downtime.

He couldn’t make sense of it, didn’t want to, but this excited McCoy so bad that he found himself gazing hungrily at the back of Kirk’s neck fighting an impulse to grab him and…

A sudden heat licked at his groin.

At the back of the _cadet’s_ neck, he corrected himself.

Ok, so he was a doctor not an actor but he knew he’d have no problem getting into character.

He felt like a predator biding his time as he scanned the terrain. Yes, they were both enveloped on all sides, and hence made anonymous, by this melting pot of humans (not forgetting the odd alien), faces pressed close, hands weaving in and out of his field of vision, legs pushing into the back of his knees. Silhouetted profiles and raised arms punching the air and upturned faces reminded him that no one could really see anyone who wasn’t standing directly next to them. It was too dark.

Fully in role, he wondered what this cadet with the broad, smooth shoulders might look like from the front. His question was answered almost immediately.

When the lead singer skidded across to stage left, microphone in hand and legs splayed, the cadet moved his head to track him, and McCoy glimpsed perfect, white teeth, high cheek bones and a blink of dark, long lashes. The cadet’s face flickered from pale red to yellow under the lights. Licking his lips, McCoy took in how the young man nodded his head and how his shoulders shook and twisted in time with the music. He _drank_ in the sight of his beautiful, strong, tan neck.

McCoy reckoned it might be a good idea to get a bit closer – you never know, if he got lucky, this full-lipped pretty boy might bump and grind up against him during the crush. The place was packed, revelers leaning against each other, vying for position and desperate to get closer to the stage.

Some grinding would be very likely, come to think of it.

McCoy surprised himself at quite how easily and quickly he’d lost himself in this fantasy.

The cadet couldn’t have known how much McCoy wanted to get a proper look at him. Would have had no idea how hard he’d become just looking at those broad shoulders, the arms twisting and punching in front of him. He wondered what it would feel like to grip those arms from behind, stroke the hairs down to his wrists and pin his hands to his thighs while he ground his cock into him from behind. His chest ached with want.

A surge in the audience pushed McCoy forward and he slammed heavily into the stranger, struggling to keep his balance.

“Sorry.” He said, leaning in close. The cadet glanced over his shoulder at McCoy, held his gaze for a moment too long with hot, blue eyes, parted his lips slightly and turned back to face the stage. No acknowledgement that they might have met before.

It made McCoy’s cock twitch with need

He had to have him.

And the cadet hadn’t stepped away.

Their bodies were flush against each other and McCoy tentatively raised both hands and placed them on the cadet’s upper arms, skimming his thumbs under the sleeves with the briefest, lightest of touches, crossing more than one barrier from the get go.

He kept his touch gentle, testing the water. He could feel the cadet’s back straighten as he inhaled deep in response. And slowly, so slowly, McCoy ran his hands down both arms, feeling the soft skin inside the elbow, spreading his fingers over the muscular, hairier forearms, pressing his chin into the back of the cadet’s neck, reveling in the faint smell of sandalwood, whisky and sweat. His nails dragged over the cadet’s wrists, his left hand skimming the watch strap and the response was less than subtle – he pressed his ass back against McCoy’s groin holding it there, inviting him, letting him do the work for the time being.

The lights changed as another number ended and McCoy got a clear look at the cadet’s expression. Eyes dead ahead, his face revealed nothing but excited interest in the band – hmm… this guy would make a great chess player.

Another surge and this time the tide of bodies stumbled back and to the side. McCoy gripped those wrists only relaxing his hold once the crowd settled again. Someone’s long hair slapped into his face from one side - he instinctively shot whoever it was a cobra glare, then continued to slide his hands further down, over the cadet’s wrists, over the gentle bump of the veins in his hands and finally interlocking fingers, so he briefly felt the calluses on the palms of his hands, and all the while he ground his groin deliberately against his ass.

The cadet leaned his head back against McCoy’ forehead and rolled his hips against him. McCoy felt the feedback from the stage hit his skull like electricity and he glanced up to see the lead singer grabbing a woman with outstretched arms and pulling her up onto the stage. Fucking turn on, this music, he might have been converted.

While enveloped by this wriggling mash of bodies, their collective arms like so many tentacles, raised, clapping, grabbing onto each other, McCoy found a momentary island of stillness. He realized he’d closed his eyes, could feel his own pulse through his chin, could feel the heat of his own breath, could feel the unshaven cheek as it ground against him and he began to growl into the cadet’s ear.

He knew he couldn’t be heard by anyone, not even the subject of his lust but, of late, this had become a habit to talk like this as he got more and more turned on. It was as if a life time of silence, of keeping things to himself, which had previously emerged a little through his grumpiness, had in the past six months at the academy erupted, at least in bed, and transformed him into the dirtiest talking Georgian gentleman he’d ever met.

I wonder what caused _that_ change? he grinned against the cadet’s shoulder.

Then he remembered he was supposed to be in character.

“You’ve got a beautiful fucking throat, you know that?” He allowed his lips to scissor across the cadet’s nape - somehow he resisted the urge to bite down. “Want to sink my fucking teeth into you, taste you.” He nipped at the cadet’s earlobe drawing it hard into his mouth enjoying the sudden hitch in the boy’s body in response. He continued to stroke and caress the long fingers but had to let go so he could work his hands around the cadet’s hips. He allowed them to settle there, enjoying the sensation of his groin being ground hard by that beautiful, tight ass. “Want to bite your throat while I fuck you into the wall, that’d get a look out of you, wipe that fucking grin off your face.”

Shit, his cock was seriously uncomfortable.

“What lucky sonofabitch gets to touch this every night?” he hissed snaking his hands round the front of the cadet’s jeans and loosening his belt dexterously. It came in handy in more ways than he could count, the surgical part of his training. “Get’s to take you whenever he wants, huh?” Jesus, he was going to come in his pants at this rate. He popped open the fly-button with one, satisfying move and the slump in front of him may have been an indication that the pretty boy’s legs were giving out - maybe that's why the boy made a move to redress the balance of power a little.

For a while, the cadet, despite the ass grinding, when he hadn’t been punching the air, had kept one hand firmly in his jeans pocket while the other had held a beer. He must have dropped the cup because he was able to force his hand round the small of his back, palms upwards so he could work on McCoy’ balls and in his turn, he helped by arching his pelvis to meet him. Felt fucking great, uncomfortable but great. Only hoped he’d let go if there was another sudden lunge from the audience – he didn’t have access to a testicle regenerator.

McCoy responded by teasing up the front of the cadet’s t-shirt temporarily struck dumb in his lascivious commentary by the feel of a firm, downy belly. He hesitated at the waistband and then began walking his fingers behind the still closed zip until, much to his delighted surprise, he came across the wet tip of the cadet’s cock.

Shit! Commando – his _favorite!_

Hm. That kick-started his vocal chords again.

“Makes it easier for anyone who wants to fuck you to get at you, huh, you little slut.” He growled approvingly, despite knowing full well his words would be blanked out by the screaming guitar.

He pushed his tongue into the cadet’s ear then dragged his mouth along his jaw and down to his shoulder again. This passionate display wouldn’t be enough to get them thrown out and no one would be able to see the below-the-waist stuff. Nevertheless, he shot a look to both sides, just in case. No, they were fine.

The cadet was slightly taller so he was grateful when he dipped down very slightly so McCoy could get his hands deeper in his waistband. Thoughtful young man, he’d go far with manners like that.

McCoy swirled his thumb in the pre-come at the head, enjoying the rub on his cupped balls, grasping the cadet’s belt loops with his other hand regretfully letting go of his cock so he could run his thumb into his own mouth and lick it. The familiar taste was almost too much. Shit, he needed to stick with his character.

“Fuck!” He gasped, bracing his legs and pulling the cadet against his hard cock, not caring he was uncomfortable and constricted. Someone behind McCoy grabbed his shoulders in their enthusiasm and McCoy tried to shrug him off a movement away which had the boy turn his head slightly. He took a moment to examine McCoy’s flushed face. He was aware his hair had fallen over his eyes but he wasn’t about to spare a hand to move it aside. One was holding his prey to him while the other had slipped back into the cadet’s pants. The awkward angle meant the cock’s tip tickled against McCoy’s wrist while his fingers stretched for the base. And thankful again that his medical training meant working in such awkward spaces, with poor visibility, was something he could take in his stride.

With the sound of cymbals burning in his ears and the distant thought that this racket was probably causing untold hearing damage, he rolled his hand in little circles, knowing full well that it didn’t matter how smoothly he did this but that _where_ they were and the fact they were surrounded by hundreds of people would be stimulation enough. His breath against the cadet’s throat, he branded his dirty words into the boy’s flesh for he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to hear a damned thing over the bellow of bass and guitar coming from ahead of them.

The cadet grasped McCoy’s cock more firmly, almost painfully and rolled and rubbed against him. A spray of beer arced in the lights above their heads and the cadet looked over his shoulder once more and said something his eyes half closed and his lips moist. McCoy didn’t need to hear these words to know what the cadet was mouthing for, among his many …oh God…talents was lip-reading Jim Kirk.

Forget the act – shit, he hoped Jim wouldn’t mind that he’d forgotten his lines and where to stand but he was so damn close, so…he shouldn’t have said that, not fair and the crowd were screaming MORE! MORE! Fuck, when had the band left the stage anyway?

“Come for me.” McCoy might have growled, or choked the words but he had no idea of their tone because all he could hear were feet stamping, whistles, hoots, pleas to return and as McCoy burrowed his head into his lovers neck and shoulder, dug his fingers into the denim, pulling him, climbing against him, grabbing clumsily at the smooth, warm cock in his hand there was one more , timely push forward from the audience, an elbow in his ribs, and the slight change in angle had the cadet almost double over in front of him and he came in floods all over McCoy’s wrist.

McCoy stilled in gratitude, still hard, still on the edge. His heart pounded in his throat, he could feel Jim panting in front of him and he knew he was giggling from the way his shoulders shook.

Grinning McCoy reclaimed his wrist on the verge of cramping and wiped it clean down the front of his jeans.

Kirk twisted round to face him, an awkward maneuver in the tight crush of people, but he was now eye to eye with McCoy. He fucking loved it when Jim didn’t shave for a few days, made him look all rumpled up. He stretched his arm out and tried to shake some feeling back into it but there wasn’t any room really.

“Hey, have we met before?” Jim shouted in his ear, and smirked, his face flushed and his mouth loose and wet and before McCoy could answer, those lips were coming for his mouth while Jim’s hand snaked behind him, bunched his t and pulled him close. But it was his other hand that was driving McCoy crazy. The cadet, rubbed brutally through his jeans, his tongue pushing hard into his mouth, fucking him when his cock couldn’t while inside McCoy’s mind all he could feel was overwhelming, needy _gratitude_ , dammit, so grateful that he knew Jim, filled with a ridiculous fear that one day he might lose him but he had him now, shit, _had_ him, and he was his. He glanced up at the stage despite himself, saw the drummers arms straight up above his head and crashing down in a brutal rhythm, blinded by the spotlights, he raked his eyes back to Jim, clinging to his shoulders with both hands, just desperate to come, needing something more and as the last song of the encore faded, in that split second of silence between the end of the performance and crazy applause and hooting, he heard Jim’s whisper,

“Bones.” Just like that - soft, into his cheek, and then again, “Bones,” right in his ear and it was the only thing he needed and he ground hard into his _lover_ , not caring about how crushed his cock felt as he came hard and long right into his clothes, not caring how sore his mouth was from Jim’s teeth as he kissed him hungrily, but probably caring a little that his ears would be ringing all night thanks to this infernal noise.

After, he held Kirk close, unwilling to let him go for a while, feeling like the luckiest guy in the galaxy and a little awestruck that with all these people here, all the souls in the universe, they two should have somehow found each other in a crowd.

 

END

 

See? It got all schmoopy in the end. Feedback always appreciated!

N.B.  The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here at my fan-fic journal 


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